An Evening Of Waking Up
by Cody Calima Kanya
Summary: Dour as he tries to be, Professor Snape finds himself enjoying the company more and more of a fellow teacher. Romance and silliness ensues.


anevening 

The staff lounge was unusually still, it's thick silence broken only by the delicate skritchings of Professor Snape's quill as he sat working, hunched in a claw-foot chair. He was obviously very involved in his work, as he never looked up once–––not when Hagrid came and left, dressed head to toe in freshly bloomed flowers to celebrate the warm weather; not when diminutive Professor Flitwick accidentally charmed a nearby book stand to sing and dance; not even when all of the staff filed out of the room, save himself and Professor Jeriel. The latter was sitting in a chair opposite Snape, tapping one foot rapidly on the floor and watching him with a sort of excited impatience.  
  
When the light sandpaper sounds of his penwork did not cease, she sighed in exasperation.  
  
_Why_ won't you go to the party? she said finally.  
  
Snape stopped writing and put down his quill, looking harassed.  
  
Really, Annabelle, we've been through this, he sighed gratedly. I'm not much of a... partygoer.  
  
Oh, come on, Professor Snape, said Professor Jeriel, leaning forward in her seat. You had a terrific time at the Yule Ball, and I know it wasn't my imagination.  
  
Snape looked ruffled.  
  
I certainly didn't... he stuttered. I was merely humoring you, you looked so happy and... I didn't want to be the one to let you down, you see.  
  
Since _when_, Severus, said Professor Jeriel, eying him pointedly, Have you ever cared about letting _anyone _down?  
  
Really, it was just that once––as a present to you––practically dragged me–– Snape tried in vain to account for his inadmissibly pleased behavior on the night of the Yule Ball. She could see reddish slashes blooming on his cheeks.  
  
What right have you to be so antisocial, Severus? she mused. When you're such an excellent dancer.  
  
It's a blasted silly little staff picnic, Annabelle, not a royal wedding, he sighed once again, shuffling his papers. It's not important.  
  
she cheered and clapped her hand on his papers. Then you'll be my date.  
  
Snape opened his mouth, simply stunned, but said nothing. Professor Jeriel cocked her head at him.  
  
And you know it wouldn't hurt to... maybe get some new robes.  
  
There is nothing wrong with my robes, Annabelle, thank you very much, he muttered through his teeth.  
  
All right, she allowed. We'll leave the robes as they are.  
  
You're so kind.  
  
There was a pause as Professor Jeriel let Snape continue his work. The teacher's lounge fell silent once more, save for the noises of the quill and Professor Jeriel's foot tapping against the side of her chair; the two sounds seemed in synch. She bit her lip, obviously considering her next course of action and smiled.  
  
Will you come to Diagon Alley with me today? she asked. I need to get a few things.  
  
Surely you can go without me.  
  
I'd appreciate your company, she said. Come on, Severus, you can't be in here on a beautiful Saturday when the sun is shining.  
  
After what looked like a lot of strain not to snarl at her, he took in a breath. No one had asked for his companionship in a great while and he was–––he had to admit–––a little pleased.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
See, isn't it good to be outside? Professor Jeriel beamed, immaculate in the sunlight.  
  
Snape glided along beside her, trying very hard to act as though he were having an appalling time, when in reality, the warmth and the bright colors of Diagon Alley made him feel like he was in fact a part of the human race. Though the sunlight gleaming in shop windows burned his eyes mildly, he shook his hair away from his face to feel the comfortable glow on his skin.  
  
Well, I _am_ out of newt's tail and hollybarb, he reasoned aloud. I ought to get some.  
  
For heaven's sake, Severus, spend your money on something fun!  
  
For example...  
  
Oh, I don't know, she smirked. I hear the Apothecary sells a few very pleasing love potions.  
  
Snape seethed, turning pink, and Professor Jeriel walked faster, chuckling to herself. Before long, they arrived at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.  
  
Here we are, said Professor Jeriel, opening the door.  
  
Oh no you don't, Snape protested.  
  
Easy, Professor, she said patiently. It's for myself. I'd just like your opinion on a few things–––it won't take a minute.  
  
Before he could object, she disappeared into the shop and he was forced to follow.  
  
It was cool and quiet inside the shop, with a pleasant, clean scent. He found her poking through the racks of dress robes. She lifted a long green gown from the rack and held it up to herself.  
  
What do you think? she asked. Is it me?  
  
It's very nice, he said dryly, then, without thinking about it, But green isn't your color.  
  
You're right, Professor Jeriel said bracingly. It's more _your_ color, I think...  
  
She held the gown up to him and grinned.  
  
Oh, that's very nice, indeed. The squat, smiling Madam Malkin appeared behind a very tormented Professor Snape.  
  
Perhaps you'd like to try out something like this, she said, snapping her fingers and a stunning green-and-black robe appeared over one of her arms. Would you like to try it on?  
  
Snape opened his mouth, but Professor Jeriel beat him to it: He'd love to.  
  
Madam Malkin aimed her wand at Snape's throat, and with a swish down towards his feet, Snape's black robes peeled into the green. He looked appalled.  
  
he snarled.  
  
You're right, Professor Jeriel nodded and Snape looked relieved. Wonderful style, but maybe something with a higher collar?  
  
I think we can do that, Madam Malkin said and took Snape by the arm, guiding him to a footstool.  
  
I think you'd look very handsome in this, dear, she smiled, snapping her fingers and changing his green robes to lavender.  
  
In celebration of spring! choked Professor Jeriel, swallowing her laughter.  
  
Snape looked so angry he was about to smoke.  
  
  
  
Again, Madam Malkin snapped her fingers, changing him into robes of beige, burgundy, periwinkle blue; running through as many colors as she could think of as she sighed, No––Not with your hair––It's just not right . . .  
  
For a split second, Snape was dressed in a white Victorian ball gown trimmed in roses.  
  
Madam Malkin paled, and snapped him out of it before he had a chance to react.  
  
The colors stopped changing for a moment and Snape was left standing in robes of bright pink, looking more violently mad than ever before.  
  
I swear, he growled, barely able to speak through his anger, If it takes me all my life, I shall get you back for this.  
  
This caused Professor Jeriel to burst into a fresh bout of laughter, and Madam Malkin clapped her hand over her mouth to keep her giggles at bay.  
  
I'm sorry, Professor Jeriel said, drying her eyes. She turned to Madam Malkin and cleared her throat. Let's try the green one, with the higher collar.  
  
Oh, yes, she smiled. Alright dear, just stand still.  
  
She changed him back into the original robes, then waved her wand, adding a handsome collar that stopped below the chin. The sleeves of the robes were black, while the body of it was an attractive, forest green piped with black embroidery.  
  
Honestly, what do you think? Professor Jeriel asked Snape, who, unsettled, looked into the triple mirror. Nice change from all black, no?  
  
He unclenched his fists, straightened up, turned sideways and smoothed down the front, considering it.  
  
Not bad, he admitted.  
  
Good for you, Professor! she smiled ecstatically, clapping her hands together.  
  
For the record, Annabelle, he said, disguising a smile. My exact words were not bad'. I hardly think that classifies as outright approval.  
  
You don't have to approve, Severus, just say yes or no and we'll leave it at that.  
  
He paused, scrutinizing himself in the mirror, and finally nodded.  
  
  
  
  
Back in the empty faculty lounge late that afternoon, Professors Snape and Jeriel were sitting quietly in chairs beside one another, each reading respective books, Professor Jeriel occasionally picking miniature orange chocolates from the self-refilling dish on the table between them.  
  
She was unwrapping her fourth orange chocolate when she glanced at Snape thoughtfully.  
  
I wish you'd let me do something about your hair.  
  
Snape twitched irritatedly and glared at her.  
  
Honestly, you'd look very handsome once I––  
  
  
  
I wouldn't do anything drastic, just––  
  
  
  
It would be very simple––  
  
  
  
Oh for heaven's sake, I won't _perm_ it! she said, then chuckled at the thought.  
  
That _isn't_ funny, he snapped.  
  
Really, I would just give it a wash and a trim, it would take all of ten minutes, she pleaded.  
  
You went very far with the robes this morning, he turned and pointed a thin finger at her. If you ever want to speak to me again, Annabelle, I suggest you not press your luck.  
  
She closed her mouth in defeat, looking remotely hurt.  
  
You don't want anybody to ever know that you're having the least little bit of fun, she said seriously. Well, let me tell you, Professor Snape, you don't hide anything. You're not as dour and impenetrable as you'd like everyone to think you are. When I look at you, do you know what I see?  
  
He scowled at her.  
  
I see a bitter person who looks older than he is because he never smiles, she said tersely. Someone who doesn't know how to let go of all his resentment. I think you're only mean because you've never tried to be anything else.  
  
Snape was offended, though he knew what she said was true.  
  
Don't pretend to know me, Miss Jeriel, he snarled at her.  
  
Don't be childish, she shot back. After you had such good times doing things you swore you'd hate, you still have to act as though the whole world bothers you so much. She glared at him. As my _friend_, you could do me the courtesy of trusting me.  
  
Snape had never, in all his years at Hogwarts, been spoken to so frankly about his demeanor, and never at all by someone who considered themselves his friend. Nor, now that he thought of it, had he ever had a friend like Annabelle Jeriel.  
  
I've taken a lot from you, Professor, she said angrily. It's time you pay me a bit more respect.  
  
He had nothing to say. Professor Jeriel pursed her lips, stood, and walked straight out of the teacher's lounge. Her half-wrapped chocolate orange rolled off her chair and onto the floor.  
  
  
  
  
It was dinner before he allowed himself to think of her again. All the Hogwarts staff and students were in the Great Hall, tucking into their duck and soufflé, and Professor Jeriel's seat, which had been beside his every day, was now empty. Discreetly, he peered down either end of the staff table and scanned the room–––she was nowhere.  
  
Good evening, Severus, Professor Dumbledore bowed to him. May I sit here?  
  
Of course, sir, Snape straightened up and offered him the chair.  
  
Where is Annabelle tonight? asked Dumbledore, helping himself to a little soufflé.  
  
Snape cleared his throat. I'm not sure.  
  
Dumbledore paused and cocked his head at him, exactly the way Snape had hoped he wouldn't. It was the gesture that began all of his thoughtful, enigmatic statements; the ones that made Snape think he might be clairvoyant.  
  
She seemed so excited about the faculty party, I'd have thought she'd be magnetized to you, he mused, Trying to force you to go.  
  
I suppose she must have given up, Snape said, poking at his food.  
  
And she tries so hard, Dumbledore looked at Snape sideways. It's a shame you're so persnickety.  
  
Snape was slightly taken back.  
  
You're a good man, Severus, he folded his hands, But frankly, I've always noticed you to be a little short with most people.  
  
Snape stared at his hands, speechless.  
  
What I mean to say, Severus, he spoke gently, Is that one does not find as steadfast and caring a friend as Professor Jeriel every day. She certainly deserves reciprocation.  
  
What do you think I should do, sir? Snape asked.  
  
Well, if it were myself, I'd do something that would make her happy, Dumbledore smiled.  
  
Snape was bewildered. What do you suggest?  
  
The classics work best, I find, he winked, and began to eat. Snape nodded, though he could only stare at his food.  
  
  
  
  
Professor McGonagall was at her writing desk the next morning when she heard a knock on her study door.   
  
Come in, she called as she laid her quill down and stood. She turned and raised her eyebrows at the pale, exhausted man standing in her doorway.  
  
Severus, you look as though you haven't slept at all, she said in concern, stepping towards him as he closed the door behind him. What's the matter?  
  
I slept very little, as a matter of fact, Snape spoke in a sigh of fatigue. It was a long night. Minerva, I need to ask a favor.  
  
She couldn't remember him ever having asked her for a favor before.  
  
He looked apprehensive, I didn't know who else to come to...  
  
What is it, for goodness' sake?  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose, I need you to... help me with my hair.  
  
Professor McGonagall blinked. She noticed snarls like weed tangles in his black mane, as though he'd tried to comb it and gotten very frustrated.  
  
she spoke carefully, I... think I'm the wrong person to... to help you with this sort of thing, Severus...  
  
Minerva, I'm desperate, he said.  
  
Er, I'll... see if I have something, here... she turned and rifled through her desk drawers, clucked her tongue, pointed her wand at a nearby ruler, and transfigured it into a brush.  
  
He slumped into the chair, propped his elbows on the desk, and buried his face in his hands. Professor McGonagall wasn't sure where to start. She began to pick apart one of his tangles; he was so tired that he made no sounds of protest as she pulled.  
  
Good heavens, Severus, what could make you do this to yourself? she said in amazement, only tightening a knot as she tugged.  
  
I promised Annabelle Jeriel, he said through his hands, That I'd go to the faculty party. She said I ought to fix my hair... Tried it myself, but...  
  
This isn't working. Professor McGonagall set down the brush and crossed her arms. Snape whimpered.  
  
I'll get Poppy. Perhaps she knows what to do with this, she thought of their school nurse, whose hair was flawless. She started towards the door, and Snape jumped out of his chair.  
  
No! Minerva, this is embarrassing enough, he swayed on his feet, his eyes flickering in and out of lucidity.  
  
Just stay here, she said, pushing him gently back into the chair. I'll bring Poppy, and she'll do something. She conjured a percolator onto her desk, and Snape ignored it.  
  
Madam Pomfrey was no help, either, other than to force some Pepperup Potion into Snape and suggest that they ask Professor Sprout. Professor Sprout, however, took one look at his tangles, reached for her hedge trimmers, and Snape headed back to the castle at a half-run, McGonagall in tow. Madam Hooch could give no advice, having very short hair as she did, and Professor Flitwick's disentanglement charm seemed to only make things worse.  
  
said McGonagall finally. I should have thought of him first.  
  
She and Snape were back in her study, and Snape, despite the Pepperup Potion, looked as though he were going to keel over.  
  
Fine. Good. Anything, he moaned, dragging himself to his feet, and followed her up to Dumbledore's office.  
  
The headmaster ushered Snape inside.  
  
Don't laugh, Snape sighed. I can't take it.  
  
I wouldn't dream of it, Dumbledore said sincerely, then turned to Professor McGonagall quietly. Thank you so much for helping him, Minerva. I know he appreciates your efforts.  
  
She nodded to him and took a last pitying look at Snape before turning out the office door.  
  
Dumbledore quietly opened the cabinet beside the window, reached into the top shelf, and took down a large brush with an ornate enameled handle and fine white bristles.  
  
This is my own brush, he said as he handed it to Snape, smiling. Enchanted to undo particularly stubborn knots and tangles. As you can imagine how uncooperative my beard can be.  
  
Snape began to gingerly draw it through his mess of feathery black, and as he did, the knots extricated themselves and fell obediently into place. Not only that, but as he trailed his hand behind the brush, his hair felt smoother, lighter, and cleaner.  
  
Trick of the trade, Dumbledore smiled as Snape handed back the brush. One of the many.  
  
Thank you, Snape mumbled.  
  
Forgive my curiosity, said Dumbledore, But this wouldn't have anything to do with Professor Jeriel's melancholy mood this morning, would it?  
  
Snape perked just slightly knowing she was miserable like himself. He didn't bother to linger on how Dumbledore could have put together the trouble with his hair and his argument with Professor Jeriel.  
  
In a way, sir, yes, he sighed. I'd promised to go to this . . . party with her and I'm afraid I was a little harsh with her.  
  
Thus this impetuous bout of self–renovation? Dumbledore smiled benignly.  
  
Yes. I wanted to look–––I just wanted so much to surprise her, Snape said defeatedly. She sees me as callous and severe–––I'm afraid I haven't done much to dispel that.  
  
Dumbledore pulled out his chair and eased himself into it with the slowness and deliberation of a truly old man. He leaned toward Snape with his usual placid smile, his silvery blue eyes sparkling kindly.  
  
It's a very noble thing, Severus, he said, When a person will put himself through such torment and misery for the sake of a friend.  
  
Snape lifted his head to meet Dumbledore in the eyes.  
  
If anyone will appreciate what you've done, it's she, he continued. I'm proud of your efforts.  
  
Thank you, sir, he smiled (for the first time in ages), shook his hand, and left the room to prepare himself for that evening's activities.  
  
  
  
  
There was an orchestra, the hall was decorated cheerfully, festooned with fresh tulips and lilies of the valley. The great doors were open, leading out to the grand balcony which had been laced with sparkling pinpricks of light that, upon closer examination, turned out to be fairies. The rows of lilacs above the doorways had been enchanted to sprinkle a light mist whenever a person passed beneath it.  
  
On the dance floor, Professor Flitwick was waltzing with Professor Sprout and Hagrid was doing his best to look graceful, while at the same time not stepping on the toes of Madam Hooch. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall danced as well, the latter shooting furtive looks at the door from time to time.  
  
He's not here, Albus. Do you suppose he's given up?  
  
Severus will be here, Dumbledore smiled. I would bet my new hat on it. Which is quite a wager, considering how fond I am of it already. Do you know, it's been enchanted to match any color I should choose to––  
  
Albus, there he is!  
  
A tall, slender figure had appeared in the doorway, and as he emerged from the shadows, many of the partygoers stopped and stared. They had never seen Severus Snape in such a manner–––dressed in handsome robes of black and dark green, his velvety hair smoothly framing his face. His skin was no longer pale and sallow but a healthier, almost glowing hue._  
  
_He stepped into the room, shyly now that all eyes were on him, and lowered his head.  
  
Way to go, Severus! Professor Sprout grinned, looking him over.  
  
Good on yeh, Professor! Hagrid beamed, shuffling over to him and clapping him jovially on the back, hard enough to make him stumble forward.  
  
Looking good, Madam Hooch said, giving him a flattering smile.  
  
Quickly, Snape scanned the Great Hall for any sign of Professor Jeriel and found, to his surprise, not the cold annoyance he usually felt, but true disappointment at her absence. Where was she? Then came the sharp irritation he knew so well–––he did all this for _her_, went out of his way (and practically out of his mind) just to make her happy. _No_, he decided silently. This night would not end in defeat, no matter the cost. He strode purposefully to the double doors leading out to the balcony and shook the light sprinkle of dew out of his hair.  
  
Half an hour later, he stood angrily by himself, dripping with dew and swatting at the fairies, all of whom seemed magnetically attracted to his hair, unable to resist the urge to tie knots in it. He couldn't enjoy himself without her there, and couldn't help but resent her for not coming. After all he'd done, after the hell and embarrassment he'd put himself through, she could at the very least–––  
  
His heart gave an unnatural jump as he spotted Professor Jeriel in a chair on the balcony, staring into her little plate of untouched cherry cheesecake. She looked even more miserable than he felt, but was still lovely in her rose-colored gown. All of Snape's indignation left him, and he approached her, his heart pounding like it hadn't in many years.  
  
Professor Jeriel's own heart, which had stirred at the sight of every figure dressed in dark colors, had sunk hopelessly in her chest. He hadn't come. She really had thought he might redeem himself, break his reputation for being coldhearted and self-absorbed... but maybe her optimism had finally come to a dead end.  
  
Out of habit, she glanced toward a tall column of black moving her way, and her mouth fell open in delight at Professor Snape's presence, and very pleasant surprise at his handsome appearance. She was speechless.  
  
He was clasping his hands behind his back, cleared his throat, and spoke.  
  
If you only knew, he said, What kind of personal torture I endured for this... Then I wouldn't have to come up with a suitable apology.  
  
  
  
He held up a hand for silence, and continued, But there are a few things I want to say to you one way or another.  
  
He extended his hand, and she slid her cherry cheesecake onto her chair as she stood. He led her to the edge of the balcony, where they had a full view of the crisp, black star-filled sky.  
  
He faced her, took both of her hands into his own, but could not bring himself to meet her gaze, which was locked in marvel on his downturned eyes.  
  
Last night I sat awake for hours, he began, Rowing over what you said to me in the office. He took a breath. And I admit that I have not treated you as friends should treat each other. In my defense, he held up a finger, his eyes still shut, I have never, for as long as I can remember, had anyone who considered themselves my friend, be nearly as patient, caring, persevering, and honest as you, Annabelle.  
  
You have my deepest apologies, and my word that I'll try never to be condescending, cruel, unappreciative, or disrespectful to you, as you have given me the privilege of your respect and kindness.  
  
After a moment of no response, he nervously raised his eyes. She was wearing a full smile, the kind he knew well of her.  
  
That was very noble of you, she said. And I accept your most well-stated apology. There is one thing, however, that I'd like you to do yet.  
  
He raised his eyebrows in question.  
  
Don't flinch, she said, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight, warm hug. It was a shock to Snape to feel it, as it had been quite a long time since he'd had one; so long he had forgotten how very good it felt to be embraced. He put his arms awkwardly around her little body and returned the squeeze. They stood that way for a long moment, both too comfortable and happy to let go.  
  
Professors Snape and Jeriel spent the evening dancing in the ballroom, impressing the assemblage with their skill, and enjoying each other's company. Professor Jeriel went on and on about how attractive his hair was, how well the robes suited him, and what a stunning gentleman he made. Snape, though hugely flattered, said nothing.  
  
As the night wore on, Snape felt the need to be near Professor Jeriel. He didn't question his feelings, choosing instead to simply do as his heart willed him. He would find himself breathing in the fresh, earthy scent of her straw-colored hair as they danced; spreading his hands over her back; holding her very closely. He caught himself smiling in such strong delight at her charm and wit, and swelled with joy each time he made her laugh. Professor Jeriel didn't stop smiling once.  
  
The party's end came too soon, but Professor Jeriel reasoned that it was better to end while everyone was in good spirits. Snape agreed, but he would likely have agreed with almost anything she said at that point.  
  
Thank you so much for coming, Severus, she smiled at him outside her chamber door, which he had walked her to. I had a magnificent time.  
  
I'm glad, he returned the smile warmly. So had I. You looked beautiful tonight.  
  
Thank goodness it's worn off, she joked.  
  
I didn't mean it that way––  
  
I know, she assured him with a gentle slap on the arm, then straightened, taking his hand. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you did for me. I know it must have been awful.  
  
You are an extraordinary friend, she said. She wrapped him in another embrace, and Snape felt a wonderful ache in his heart at the warmth and softness of her. _Why does this feel so glorious?_ he wondered.  
  
They parted, and her eyes sparkled happily.  
  
I'll see you tomorrow morning, then, she said finally.  
  
he sighed.   
  
She gave him one last smile before slipping into her room and closing the door.  
  
He felt exhilarated, standing there at her door, reveling in the residue of her smile, her touch, her fragrance. What was he to do? He lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then floated back to his office.  
  
  
  
  


That night, while returning to her room from a restless midnight snack in the kitchens, a soft glow drew Professor Jeriel to Professor Snape's office door. She pushed it gingerly open, poked her head in, and smiled fondly.  
  
Professor Snape was sleeping, his head on the crook of his arm, a quill still resting between his fingers and bleeding a long-dried splotch of scarlet ink onto his parchment. In the ease of rest, all the angry lines had been smoothed from his face. He looked younger, somehow; relaxed. She hated to disturb him.  
  
she said gently, pressing her hand to his shoulder. She shook him faintly. Professor Snape...  
  
He jolted awake, sitting up suddenly, hastily shutting his book over his document.  
  
he said, pushing his sable hair back nervously and screwed the top back onto his inkwell. What time is it?  
  
Past midnight. She rubbed his shoulder softly, (he held back the urge to touch her hand,) Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?  
  
he broke into a yawn, ––That would be very nice. Thank you.  
  
Of course. She lit a small, quiet fire in the hearth, filled the kettle in the laboratory sink, and quick-boiled it on the grate as Snape watched her dreamily.  
  
What's that you were working on? she asked genially.  
  
Oh... Potions nonsense, he waved his hand and pushed the book discreetly beneath a pile of papers.  
  
It's that interesting that it keeps you up until midnight? she asked, pouring him a cup.  
  
he merely intoned, and took the cup. Thank you.  
  
She pulled a chair close to face his, and watched him over the rim of her cup as they both drank. His mouth, always drawn in a frown, was softer now.  
  
It's very good, he murmured faintly, then, What brings you here?  
  
I went to the kitchens for a piece of the cake from the party, she said, her voice low. When I came back I saw a light on under your door. Thought I'd come check on you.  
  
Thank you, he said, blinking heavily, swaying slightly where he sat.  
  
You're falling asleep, Severus, she chuckled, and he nodded sleepily.  
  
So I am.  
  
Come on, she stood. You go to bed; I'll put out the fire and lock up.  
  
You're too kind, he smiled, finished his tea, and set the cup on the counter. His heart fluttered shortly as she wrapped her arm around his side, pushing him towards the door to his chambers. He turned in the doorway, facing her.  
  
he began, but nothing more came.  
  
Go on, she smiled sweetly. Go to bed.  
  
He sighed. Good night, Annabelle.  
  
Good night, Severus.  
  


She closed the door after him. She put out the fire with a twist of her wand, and was about to blow out the candle on Snape's writing desk, when the book he had been working in caught her eye. Out of earnest curiosity, she pulled it out and opened it to the sheet of parchment he'd been working on.  
  
In crimson script, smeared by his sleepy hand, was written:  
  
My Dear Annabelle,  
  
Because I am not a man who can easily express his feelings, when he has feelings to express, I know only to tell you this in writing. And being the sort of man who has never had the need to express things intimately, I can only apologize that this letter will never do you the justice you deserve.  
  
I have never felt this way in my life, never before you. When I am with you, I am nervous and elated. When I am not, I am unusually anxious and irritable, and I find that every thought I have is of you. You have consumed me, and I am not upset about it.  
  
If what I am feeling is right, I am falling steadily in love with you.  
  
If I have the courage to send this letter to you, then my feelings are not merely induced by dizzying late-night waltzes and blackberry wine. If I do not...  
  
The letter ended there, unfinished. She lingered on the last few lines, just as Snape had done himself before drifting to sleep at his desk. She didn't know what to think of it. She had had a small suspicion, had certainly felt he was warming up to her, but to say he loved her?... Had he been drunk or half-asleep when he wrote it? If he really felt so...  
  
She slipped the letter back into the book and hid the book back under the papers on his desk. In the small light of the single flame, she covered a broad smile with her hand.  
  
She would wait to see whether he would send her the letter...


End file.
